Regrets collect like old friends
by EvelynEvelyn
Summary: What was going through O'Brien's mind as she prepared to leave Downton?


_Watching Sunday's ep just wasn't the same without O'Brien's cut throat remarks. So I wrote this to cheer myself up… sort of. __Again I'm my own beta reader so sorry for any grammatical errors! I've tried to find as much as I could after the disaster of my last fic._

_O'Brien POV and a hint of Cora x O'Brien if you squint._

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Sarah O'Brien felt like a coward.

How could she not? Sneaking off in the dead of night like some criminal. She wished she could be stronger, that _somehow_ her conscience would will her to stop with this ridiculous escape and face what needed to be faced. But as she packed the last of what little clothing she had, Sarah knew there was no going back. Besides, even had she wanted to change her mind she couldn't. Lady Flintshire had already made the arrangements for her departure, and she'd be damned to look a fool in front of her. No, she had to stick to her guns, if only for her own sanity.

Closing the small case she had, Sarah paused and quietly contemplated her future. Even though on the surface it was all planned out, she couldn't help but feel uneasy. After all it wasn't like she was just swapping employers, she was heading for a far off country. Away from everything she knew, away from friends- well familiar faces anyway- she scoffed at the thought, who was she fooling, she had no friends at Downton. Even whatever alliance she had with Thomas had been severed.

Exhaling sharply at the thought, she shook her head. She would be lying if she said it didn't bother her. Before the war she and the footman had been as thick as thieves, and she enjoyed having someone on par with her intelligence to talk to. Sarah had always looked forward to their unofficial cigarette breaks in the yard; and felt the loss when she'd spent cold autumn mornings smoking alone. Perhaps at times he was nothing more than a jumped up boy, but he'd been the closest thing to a friend Sarah'd had for a long time. Along with the incident regarding her ladyship's soap; her treatment of Thomas was among the many things she _bitterly _regretted.

But the regret of the former was _nothing_ compared to the latter. The reminder of the Countess's miscarriage brought about the same pang of guilt it always did. That was partly the reason she had to leave. Bates's words had left a feeling of impending doom within her. She was a woman who always trusted her gut instinct and right now it was telling her to run. Ever since that unfortunate day she knew her facade of indifference would come apart sooner or later. She had hoped that spending every waking hour tending to her ladyship's needs would be a source of redemption for her unforgivable act; but it wasn't. Quite the opposite actually.

The more time she spent with Cora the tighter the tendrils of guilt coiled inside of her. Not only that but the longer she spent in her ladyship's presence the fonder Sarah grew of the woman; and that hadn't been part of the plan. Before the miscarriage Sarah had often viewed her mistress with a detached sense of annoyance. After all she was just like any other of the upper class citizens of this world; self ritchous with no right to be so. Often when styling Cora's hair Sarah had found herself rolling her eyes behind the brunette's back as she rambled on about something painfully unimportant. Or how she'd have to bite her tongue when the Countess had the audacity to complain about how a busy day of shopping in London had tired her out; she had no idea what hard work was and probably never would. No, Sarah had never thought to deeply about Cora's feelings because she believed her to be void of any real ones; apart from ignorance and undeserving happiness. But that had all changed the afternoon of the _accident._

After hearing the thump of her small body hitting the ground, followed by a blood curdling scream, Sarah had not hesitated to run back into the adjoining room. It was the first time she'd seen Cora, The Countess of Grantham look truly broken, and it frightened her. The days following had been almost as bad, as the usual bright eyed american's cheerful demeanour dwindled behind grief and loss. Of course as time had worn on and the war came, Cora slowly became her old self again and Sarah never rolled her eyes once at any of her words. She would even indulge he ladyship with an opinion on certain mundane topics and let her revel in whatever happiness she could garner from the interaction.

The sound of creaking floor boards briefly tore Sarah away from her thinking and she glanced towards the cheap clock that sat on the mantel piece near her bed. It was just past one in the morning, everyone should be asleep now; unless Mrs Hughes was checking up on the younger, newer staff, but even that was unlikely. No, it was just sounds of an old attic, she was alone. The thought of Mrs Hughes caused a ghost of a smile to form on Sarah's features. Undoubtedly the old bag would be shocked at her disapearnce, and annoyed. It would be her who'd have to pick the pieces and dress her ladyship until they found a replacement. _Immediately _her smile vanished, and Sarah suddenly felt very angry at the idea of someone new becoming Cora's maid. She'd been with her ladyship for years, and knew exactly what hairstyle's she liked best and what garment she would want to wear for a certain occasion, even before being told so. It irked Sarah to think of someone who hardly knew what Cora really needed turning up and taking over while she was on the other side of the world.

The prospect of swapping from one elegant lady to a simply neurotic one was not something Sarah desired; but it was just another sacrifice she had to make. Besides at least with Lady Flintshire she could delve back into her robotic stance of impassiveness. She owed nothing to her new Lady and would never care for her as she'd done Cora. And even when she knew the latter would soon forget her, Sarah promised herself never to, and she doubted she could even if she had wanted her jaw, she knew she needed to leave soon. There would be a car waiting for her in the village at half past, curtesy of the Flintshire's.

Next to her bag on the bed there were three letter's, Sarah's pale fingers touched one in particular before abruptly picking up all three. Carefully she placed them on the mantel; One for the downstairs staff, one for her ladyship and then another for her ladyship, only this one had just her name on it. No heirs or graces; just, _Cora_. This was the letter that mattered, while the other was merely an employee address her mistress, this third letter was personal.

In it Sarah had confessed to her sin regarding Cora's un born child and how she had pleaded for her forgives once upon a time, but her ladyship had been to ill to hear her. And how much it broke whatever pieces of her heart she had left to leave. She knew it was improper to address her as such, but it mattered very little as she would probably never see any of the Grantham's again. Turning on her heel Sarah took her bag and pointedly turned to leave, but just as she reached the door she glanced over her shoulder at the letters. Cowardice over took once again and without thinking she turned back to them and removed the third letter. Swallowing a lump in her throat, Sarah didn't realise she was crying until tear drops fell on the ink that spelled out Cora's name; causing it to smudge and trail down the thin paper. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to stop this foolishness, and when she opened them, the letter was scrunched in her clenched fist.

She placed it in her coat pocket. There would be no catalyst, her confession would remain unheard, and she would just e another nameless servant who's memory would be forgotten as the humdrum of life carried on. But Sarah would not destroy the letter, she would wait until she was ready and one day she'd deliver it to Cora, by hand, in person.

One day she _would _return to Downton Abbey.

One day she _would _be redeemed.


End file.
